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african american poetry

esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
vocĂŞ Ă© bonito e desvanecido
eu quero saber Ă s vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
de nossos lugares escondidos
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
alguns dos hurts que vocĂŞ se curou
eu nunca soube que a terra teve assim muito ouro
eu vi as estrelas as mais orgulhosas
o que mim lhe devem
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
escute
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes

 



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